THE APPOINTED HOUR

[fatecrash]

It wasn't long ago that the sun finally dropped out of sight, and the clouded sky overhead is still streaked with pink. The street is quiet, the lights of the buildings overlooking it not yet lit. A slight breeze ruffles the grass by the pavement. It's a peaceful scene.

That is, until a greyish shape about three foot tall and roughly as wide cannonballs out through the second-storey window of the library in a hail of noisily shattering glass.

Only half a second before he can make his own bloody stain on the sidewalk does Anghel remember to flutter. It takes some logistical rejiggering, since he insists on clutching his pen in one wing and his small notepad in the other. But he manages, touching down at the base of a streetlamp after only a little bouncing and hardly any grazes at all.

"The Hour of Judgement is nigh!" he cries. "The radiant gates of Heaven call to me! If I can endure this final bitter ordeal, never again shall the world succumb to -"

He trails off into a shiver, his fluffy chest puffing out in the cool air. "No, wait," he breathes, his voice quivering at least as much as his feathers. "Could I have been mistaken? The unholy winds of Niflheim howl, a harbinger of the End Times... Their maddening symphony weaves a Prison of Ages as I speak. I fear it is... too late. The night encroaches..."

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[fatecrash]

Anghel, meanwhile, had his beady grey-violet sights set in one direction only, hurtling towards the light novel collection in the back of the library like a one-pigeon landslide. "Do not be mistaken, my friend. The Prison of Ages cleaves no longer to the prayers of mortals," he said, apparently oblivious to the fact that his newfound companion was taking much more care with this search than he was. "In my folly, I thought it sealed beyond this realm forevermore. Yet the prophecy of -"

Thunk.

"- aaghh."

The bookcase rocked back and forth rather alarmingly. So did Anghel. Only after a moment or two did he regain enough of his composure to fluff his feathers out again and give his head a little shake. Still, at least the impact seemed to have slowed him down.

It was at this point that one of the library doves reached up with her wingtip to tap Chen on - not quite his shoulder, more like the small of his back, but an effort was being made. "Excuse me, sir... Are you a friend of Yoshio here?"